


Something, Something, Aqua Did A Song About This

by StupidSexySlimeGod



Category: HLVRAI - Fandom
Genre: Crossdressing, Dress Up, M/M, Macro/Micro, Oral Sex, doll kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-03
Updated: 2020-10-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:46:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26790874
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidSexySlimeGod/pseuds/StupidSexySlimeGod
Summary: Gordon had a very specific kink idea, okay? And it's perfectly normal.
Relationships: Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Comments: 8
Kudos: 197





	Something, Something, Aqua Did A Song About This

Once upon a time (which, honestly, felt like a lifetime ago), Gordon Freeman lived a normal life. Exceedingly normal, even, with a nine-to-five job, parents he was bad at keeping up with, and an apartment that was completely identical to that of his neighbors. He had a list of ex-girlfriends who all had generic names and basic kinks, and his sex life was as vanilla as Breyer’s ice-cream. He could count on one hand the amount of oddball things he’d looked up on porn sites to fill his lonelier hours, and mentions of more off-the-wall fetishes made him crinkle his nose in confusion and disgust.

That would never be him, he told himself with a firm nod. He was normal. He was fine with being a basic bitch.

And that was all well and good, up until the catastrophe known as Benrey.

Gone were the days of thinking “shibari” was the most bizarre thing he’d ever seen, replaced instead with new and exciting concepts such as “getting mauled by what was essentially a land-shark for fun” and “discovering that tentacle hentai didn’t need to be relegated to anime forums.” He’d discovered what alien tongues could do when challenged, and he would never be able to look at the word “leash” without blushing ever again. Times had changed, and he with them, and every passing day dragged him further and further from the light of all that was good and pure and _normal_.

Today’s adventure was one he wasn’t entirely sure how he managed to get himself into. His breath caught in his throat as he peeked over the edge of Benrey’s massive hand, staring down into a sparkling abyss of swirling, colorful gases and floating chunks of rock, shattered islands drifting by like lazy turtles swimming through a lake. Kite-shaped birds soared through the skies, circling and weaving, always careful to give his handler a wide berth as though they instinctively feared him. Gordon couldn’t blame them; he found himself equally scared of the six-story man cradling him in his palm, and he’d been actively fucking the guy for months.

Letting out a deep sigh, Gordon lifted his eyes to those of Benrey, shining like beacons beneath a curtain of shaggy black hair that hadn’t been brushed for days. The colossus smiled in return, rows of jagged teeth glinting in the sparse light of his alien homeworld, each one dwarfing Gordon in such a way that it made his heart sink straight through his stomach.

“Yo, you good?”

Even though Benrey was uncharacteristically thoughtful and seemed to take care to speak quietly, the sheer size of him meant it didn’t help much. Despite how low his voice was, it echoed through Gordon’s body like an electric jolt. His organs rattled against each other and his eyes screwed shut as he shrank into Benrey’s hand.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he squeaked. Benrey’s head tilted. He scowled.

“Can’t hear you. Gotta, uh, gotta speak up, little man.”

Gordon sighed, still refusing to open his eyes. His face flushed red, his stomach twisted into a knot. Of course Benrey couldn’t hear him very well. Given how tightly he was huddling, both out of embarrassment and nerves, he’d have been surprised if the guy could have heard him even if they were both the same size.

“I’m fine!” he shouted louder, and the smile returned to Benrey’s lips. He nodded enthusiastically and his whole body shook with him, Gordon letting out a squall as he felt himself tumbling toward the edge of Benrey’s palm. Half of him expected Benrey to just let him go, a fear cemented by the earth-shaking laugh he barked as he watched Gordon scrabble for traction, but at the last second he felt fingers gently pinch around his waist and pull him back to safety.

“Yo, careful. Uh… we, ah, can’t play if you’re squished. Clumsy idiot.”

Under normal circumstances, Gordon would have said something scathing in return. Right now, however, the balance of power wasn’t exactly shifted in his favor. Inhaling deeply and swallowing his words, he shakily sat himself back down on Benrey’s palm, eyes darting away from the wicked grin the other man was sporting. Instead, he focused on literally anything else he could see--debris, weird rock formations, alien oddities--in an effort to shut out the fear and humiliation boiling in his gut.

His shoulders heaved with a sigh as he felt Benrey jostle around, struggling against inertia to keep himself from rolling out into space. Closing his eyes and counting to ten, he tried very hard not to think of how high up he was, how little restraint Benrey typically showed in much less dangerous situations, and the exact nature of their latest visit to an extraterrestrial hellscape he’d never hoped to see again. Sure, it was all consensual and the whole idea had seemed like one hell of a fantasy when being talked about pre-blowjob, trying to work one another up enough to take the first lick, but that was when cumbrain reigned supreme.

Now, Gordon had some reservations.

“Kinda, ah, weird. Weird that you wanted to, uh, do this.”

Benrey’s voice was distracted, and Gordon peeled one eye open to look up and see what exactly the titan was up to. His nose was crinkled in confusion, his brows knitted together, his eyes squinched ever-so-slightly in a blatant show that something was wrong. Massive fingers dug in massive pockets for massive bits of junk that were discarded into the ether and drifted away like everything else orbiting the haze. Gordon watched curiously, until Benrey let out a loud, growling groan of exasperation and sloppily juggled him into his other hand.

Head over heels he went with a squall, landing on his back at just the right angle to watch Benrey prodding through every nook and cranny he could think to hide things. When all options were exhausted, he rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue before dramatically throwing up a free hand into the air. In a flash of strange, green light, something tiny manifested between his fingertips.

“But, ch’yeah, if this is what my _friend_ wants, I guess this is what my _friend_ gets.”

His voice was singsong, mocking. Gordon felt a strange heat well up in his belly, crawl up his chest, and spread over his face. Of course, Benrey was joking. He had to be, considering how gung-ho he’d been about Gordon’s silly little idea. Fanning himself off in an effort to make the shame go back from whence it came from, he mentally chanted to himself that, if he were to think _critically_ about this request, it made perfect goddamn sense.

It was all about the loss of control, the touch, the same weird thrill he got from surprising his lovers by dressing up in something a little spicy. Letting your gigantic, hyper-carnivorous alien boyfriend toss you around like a D20 and doll you up in costumes was a perfectly normal kink, and nobody--not God, not the devil, not his _own goddamn common sense_ \--could take that away from him.

“You ready, Barbie?” Benrey teased, and Gordon visibly cringed. After a moment to think good and hard about it, he offered a weak nod. He’d already come as far as to allow himself to be whisked away to Xen after swearing he never even wanted to _think_ about it again, so what would be the point of turning back now?

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. He squeaked as Benrey rocked his hand, bouncing him between his fingers. Obviously, he was displeased.

“Can’t hear you. What did’ja say?”

Oh. Right. The size difference. The way it affected communication. He was going to have to yell.

Pushing himself upright, he straightened his crooked glasses, slicked back his hair, and waited for the dizziness to subside. 

“I said I’m ready! Just, let me get these clothes off and--!”

As soon as he made the motion to pull off his shirt, Benrey made an unreadable noise and lunged. Whatever he’d summoned out of the ether was crumpled into his other palm as his impressively-sized index finger shoved itself into his chest and toppled him backwards, pinning him down with just enough pressure to dissuade him from trying to escape.

“Yo, whoa. No. That, uh, that ain’t what you said. I get to do the dress-up. You, uh, you’re a Polly Pocket. Gotta, uh, sit still. Let me do the thing.”

With that, Benrey reached out and snagged one of the smaller floating islands, defying logic as he pulled it closer to himself. Gordon’s head lolled to the side and he watched, wide-eyed and terrified. He’d always known Benrey to be powerful, but pulling an object out of gravitational orbit was some god-level shit. His thoughts raced as he scoured every ounce of his brain for anything useful that could justify it, but his train of consciousness was cut off when Benrey unceremoniously plopped him on the dirt.

Gordon blinked. He watched as Benrey piled up a heap of mystery fabric just out of his reach on the dusty earth. Slowly, it dawned on him that this island had now become his workspace. He’d broken the laws of physics to create a hobbyist’s desk. 

There were questions he desperately wanted to ask, but the moment his mouth opened, he was silenced by the sensation of something warm and rough and large pressing against his stomach. Gentle scraping from dry skin and short nails as man-sized fingers delicately grabbed at the hem of his shirt and tugged upward. A sound of surprise sputtered out of him as he found his arms raised up in unison, trapped between the pads of Benrey’s index finger and thumb, as he pleasantly hummed to himself and carefully slid the article over his head.

It was discarded in a pile beside him. Gordon felt a cold rush of Xen air and shuddered, looking up to Benrey with his jaw slack and his eyes as big as dinner plates. Sure, this kind of manhandling was exactly why they’d come here in the first place, but he hadn’t been expecting Benrey to get down to the brass tacks so quickly. 

He shifted to move and was quickly stopped when Benrey plucked him up beneath his arms, holding him in a firm but painless grip around his chest. Legs dangling uselessly beneath him, he looked down at the sizable gap between him and the ground and swallowed hard. Once more, he tried to say something. Once more, he was interrupted.

This time, by the feeling of Benrey’s massive fingers against his crotch.

Fear died at the sensation of pressure against his groin. Gordon coughed, gagging on his own words, head lifting to watch Benrey as the man’s tongue peeked out between razor teeth in deep concentration. There was no red in his cheeks, no desire in his eyes, no indication that he was aware of the fact he was essentially massaging his cock. Shakily, Gordon spared a glance down to see what was really going on, and let out a trembling breath as he watched the button on his jeans pop open.

“There we go!” Benrey announced triumphantly, with the same inflection as a man finishing a model. Cautious to not bang Gordon up, he plopped him right back down and began to poke through the summoned pile of what Gordon now realized was clothing.

 _Bad_ clothing.

The type of clothing Gordon hadn’t worn since he was fifteen and going through a phase. The urge to protest was strong as he watched Benrey shake the wrinkles out of a solid black, messily ripped shirt with an unreadable but undoubtedly edgy graphic emblazoned across the front. It was like a skull, almost, but not the skull of something he’d ever seen in his life. The language the words were written in was illegible, something that only Benrey likely knew and whose meaning Gordon wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“Alright, let’s get this _goin’_ ,” Benrey enthusiastically sang. “Gonna, uh, gonna make you _cool beans_.”

“Benrey, that isn’t cool. That’s not been cool since 2007.”

“ _Cool beans_ ,” Benrey repeated, and Gordon wasn’t sure if he hadn’t heard him or was blatantly ignoring him. Regardless, he found himself at Benrey’s mercy once more as his hands found his body again, tugging him up with care and dexterously slipping the shirt over his head. He gently squeezed Gordon’s torso as he slotted his arms through the sleeves, and gingerly caressed his cheek as he set his glasses right after they were knocked askew. He fished Gordon’s ponytail out of the collar and expertly positioned it over his shoulder so that it draped across his chest, and allowed his touch to linger a bit too long as he examined this final touch like a critic scrutinizing a painting.

There was a weight and a warmth to his grip, an all encompassing sensation that brought to mind memories of cold nights and wild flings he’d always swore would be the last. Flashes of imagery were plastered across his mind like posters, of Benrey slipping on top of him, weight pressed into his back as he was crushed against the mattress. Of him huffing against the back of his ear, of his hand snaking to his hips as a silent threat.

Gordon swallowed. His face was red. His boxers felt a size smaller. His imagination had run away with him to the point that, when he felt Benrey snatch him up and brush against his legs, he let out a sharp squeal.

If Benrey noticed, he didn’t acknowledge it. He was deep in concentration, sliding a rather hideous pair of pants with gaudy patches of plaid onto him. They felt like velveteen, itched worse than a bad case of fleas, and were completely forgotten as the back of Benrey’s finger pressed against his half-hard dick while trying to get the zipper.

Again, Benrey didn’t seem to notice, though Gordon wasn’t certain how. Sure, Benrey was a bit oblivious, but a half-chub had to be easy to feel or, hell, even _see_ . Perhaps it was because of the size difference. _Everything_ was because of the size difference.

“Oh, ew.” Benrey’s nose scrunched up and, immediately, he was unbuttoning the slacks once more. “That’s, uh… yeah. Whoa. That’s fuckin’ bad. What the hell?”

The pants came off. The shirt was peeled away. Gordon was sat half naked back onto the “desk,” and Benrey called forth another set of garments like a god creating life.

This time around, it was a pair of cargo shorts and a button-up shirt that had to have been designed by a bootleg Tom Hardy. It was easily nothing that Gordon would ever wear in public, especially with the knock-off Birkenstocks that came with it, but he quietly let Benrey set about his work. 

Every moment that passed brought forth new, naughty memories. Sliding him into the shirt and buttoning up the front made him think of Benrey tracing sharp nails down his chest. Slipping him into the ugly shorts and wrestling to get them straight elicited flashbacks of Benrey grabbing his ass and reeling him in for a violent kiss. Wiggling him into those hideous shoes made him think of late-night massages where Benrey’s hands would creep higher and higher once his fascination with his feet was satiated.

Benrey didn’t like this outfit either. He called for another.

Knee-high dad socks and what appeared to be an overly-complicated pair of jelly sandals, paired with a mechanic’s jumpsuit and an apron that read perfect gibberish. It was both completely mismatched and took a lot of precision work to get any of it on. Hands traveled across every inch of Gordon’s body, heavy fingers squeezing mewling cries out of him as he imagined that every touch was Benrey sliding on top of him, settling in his lap, rubbing his shoulders, pulling his head back to whisper horrible, naughty things. Every accidental brush across his length made him bite his lip so hard he swore he’d bring blood, his eyes traveling to Benrey to see if he’d take notice.

No. But he wasn’t happy with this end result, either. One more try.

An exact replica of his work uniform, right down to the stains on his lab coat and an ID badge that had to be carefully hung around his neck on a Black Mesa lanyard. When Benrey tugged it, he felt the breath leave him as it pushed against his windpipe. He choked out a plea, digging his nails into his palm as he tried to distract himself from the humiliating urge to touch himself. Desperately, he looked to Benrey to see if he was finally catching on to his struggle, and let out a frustrated whine when Benrey simply nodded to himself and congratulated his own handiwork.

He wanted to try again.

And again.

And again.

A suit, replete with little white gloves. A Black Mesa security uniform that smelled faintly of Benrey. A strangely chic, bohemian get-up that looked good despite Gordon knowing good and goddamn well it was pure dumb luck that all the pieces went together. Fleece pajamas and a dingy shirt from MIT that Gordon actually owned.

With every one, Gordon became more desperate. Benrey’s touch was practically setting him aflame, brushing against sensitive areas in a way that he swore was purposeful, dragging forth memories of rough fucking, bites and scrapes and being crushed between a monster of a man and whatever convenient object they’d decided to have sex on. It had to be on purpose--the whole point of this idea was to cater to an ultra-specific kink--but no matter how many times he waited for Benrey to escalate things, he seemed far more wrapped up in the artistry, in the idea of playing with his doll.

Finally, after being undressed for what he hoped would be the final time, Gordon’s resolve shattered. While Benrey stood before him, staring into the middle distance and struggling to think of a new costume for his toy, Gordon fell back onto the dirt. Cheeks red and mind hazy, he let a hand travel down his chest, dip beneath his boxers, and wrap around his member. The instantaneous relief he felt was enough to make him gasp, a loud and humiliating sound that brought drowning to mind more than anything sexy. 

It was loud and distressing enough that it echoed through the void of Xen. Benrey had to have heard it, and honestly? Gordon hoped the fuck he did.

Or, at least he thought that’s what he wanted, up until he felt pressure on his arm and opened his eyes to see Benrey looming over him like a hungry god, saliva dripping from the corners of his mouth as he pulled Gordon’s hand away. The sound he made was embarrassing, desperate, and tinged with anger that died only when he sobered up enough to realize what exactly he was dealing with. 

Something big. Displeased. Plotting. Somehow, Gordon could _tell_ he was plotting.

“Dirty little boy, ain’t’cha?” Benrey asked in a mocking tone. Gordon tried to squirm away, but found himself pinned under another of Benrey’s fingers. He spat a curse, more to himself than at Benrey specifically, and felt his stomach twist into knots as he imagined the weight of his hold was him in his entirety, straddling his chest, preparing himself to be eaten out good and proper.

Gordon folded an arm over his eyes to hide his shame. His dick twitched repeatedly like the dirty fucking traitor it was.

“Uh, dolls don’t move, bro. You need to, uh, sit still. I’m still workin’ on things? Gotta find the perfect ‘fit for my best friend. Gotta make you _pretty_.”

There was a sensation, nails slipping over the edge of his underwear and gently, carefully peeling them away. Gordon let out a squawk as his dick sprang completely free, arm shooting up to get a good look at what exactly was going on. It was difficult to see past Benrey’s hand holding him firmly against the ground, but he did catch wind of a streak of color that matched his boxers flittering away into the emptiness of Xen.

“Got ideas,” Benrey continued. “Gotta, uh, be patient for me. Gotta wait. Be good. Fuckin, ah, went to nerd school for fifty years or whatever. You can wait fifteen minutes, right? Right.”

A new flash of green. A new garment, produced well within view of Gordon in such an obvious taunt that it bordered insulting. There were bows and lace and frills, and layers of fabric in a mixture of white and a deep, almost royal purple. Gordon choked out in protest as he watched Benrey meticulously sit out the ensemble piece by piece beside his head.

It was a dress, some weird cross between Sunday best and sexy French maid. There were shoes, with heels and buckles, and dark thigh-highs ending with lace. The _piece de resistance_ seemed to be a pair of white cotton panties, simple and delicate and deceptively innocent.

“I’m not wearing that,” Gordon grumbled. He shot a look back up to Benrey and, when he got no response, repeated himself louder. “I am _not_ wearing that!”

The response was not what he expected. He expected teasing, maybe something dumb about how gay he was despite the fact Benrey had been the one to initiate sex a good ninety-percent of the time. What he wasn’t anticipating was the legitimate disappointment in his face, brows furrowing and lips pouting as he gently craned his head to the side.

“Why not, man? S’cute.”

“It’s a _dress!_ ”

Disappointment quickly turned to confusion. The confusion turned to a blank, empty stare that Gordon had long ago learned was Benrey’s silent way of communicating that he didn’t actually care. Gordon’s words meant nothing to him and the conversation from here-on out would be the equivalent of yelling at a brick wall.

“Yeah? So?”

“I’m a man, Benrey!”

“Yeah? So?”

“Men don’t wear dresses, bro!”

“Yeah, well, they could. They should wear dresses. You could. Should. It’ll be cute.”

“Benrey, I don’t--!”

“Nah, c’mon man. S’cute. Let’s be cute. So fuckin’ cute, bro.”

With that, Gordon was lifted.

Despite his previous reservations, there was something about the way he was hoisted up that silenced him completely. Perhaps it was the way Benrey put the perfect amount of pressure on his hips, squeezing lightly as he forced him still and teasingly inched the stockings up his legs, smoothing them out with feather-light touches that grazed the very edges of his inner thigh. Maybe it was the way he knelt down closer, breath panting hot against his back as he slipped the dress over him and took great care in slowly shifting and twisting the fabric to lie perfectly across his body, fingertips brushing against exposed skin like silent taunts.

It was most likely the way he squeezed his legs just beneath his ass to hold him still as he reached for the zipper on the back, hands lingering a bit too long before a mixture of heat and pressure slowly slid up his spine as his knuckle dragged across his bare flesh. Gordon threw back his head and let out a lewd, sad noise as Benrey pulled away. For the first time since their little venture began, Benrey acknowledged his neediness with a laugh.

He leaned forward, massive head eclipsing the light, his booming voice reverberating through every inch of Gordon’s body.

“Gettin’ pretty gay, huh? Freakin’, uh, _pervert_.”

Gordon wasn’t entirely sure Benrey knew what that word meant, but it hit him like a bullet regardless. His cock responded with a twitch, and he spoke on its behalf by mumbling a string of colorful curses that he was fairly certain Benrey didn’t hear. Whether it was because of the fact he was too small, too insignificant to be detected was unclear, since it was equally possible that Benrey was too distracted to listen at all. That much was evident when Gordon was spun around and saw that his handler was more than a little into it himself.

Drooling like a predator, razor teeth on display. Given his monumental size, it seemed like a threat. He plucked up the panties and held them in front of Gordon like he was offering a treat and then, without warning, flipped him onto his back.

He was so careful, as if Gordon was an artifact to be preserved. He threaded his legs into the underwear and then softly guided them up with the barest touch of his fingers. His movements were so practiced, so precise that he didn’t even ruffle the skirt of the dress as he fixed them into place, index finger gliding teasingly across an erection that Benrey was now incapable of ignoring. Playfully, he pressed down just enough to make Gordon mewl.

“Neat,” he chuckled. Then, he wrapped a hand around Gordon and lifted him into the air.

He was unceremoniously dropped in the middle of Benrey’s palm once more, the shoes forgotten as well as the island itself. Disregarding the fact that Gordon’s _actual_ clothes were still on it, Benrey hip-bumped it back into orbit and raised Gordon up to his face. Dagger teeth glinted in the light as he ran a long, monstrous tongue over them, saliva dripping from the razor-sharp edges.

The way he was staring was unnerving but attractive. It was critical, it was hungry. It made Gordon feel small as he sat there, legs sprawled out in front of him and panties trapping his dick beneath cotton and elastic. He was untouched, desperate, and had no other option than to stare in silence up at the behemoth.

Nerves and desire having gnawed through every wire in his brain, he swallowed hard and gestured to himself weakly.

“Do I look… good?”

Benrey’s mouth twitched up in a wicked smile.

“Uh, _ch’yeah._ Told’ja you’d be cute.” He paused, he sniffed. “But, uh, I need to see somethin’ real quick. Gotta, y’know, do a quality check.”

He over-enunciated the last words, clicked his tongue at the very end. It was a tone Gordon was used to, somewhere between earnest and mocking, in a gray area that only existed for somebody like Benrey. He furrowed his brows as he watched Benrey’s free hand reach for the hem of the dress, two fingers snaking underneath.

There was pressure, firm and forceful. He felt his knees grow further apart and felt fingertips pushing into his thighs. When the dress began to rise, Gordon barked in alarm and pushed it back down, face burning in shame. Somehow, even though Benrey was actively pressing his legs open, he was so hard that it ached, and he was desperate for some attention, his mind could not get past the shame of a hiked skirt.

“Oh, that’s sucks,” Benrey rumbled sadly. “You, uh… you worried there? Think your good pal Benrey didn’t, ah, do good in dressing you? Don’t want me to see my hard work?”

“Benrey, I--”

“Dude, I made it all myself. I, uh, I just wanna admire the art. Just wanna… you know.”

He pushed against Gordon’s legs harder. He purposefully angled himself to ever-so-slightly brush against his cock. Gordon whined in response and shook his head fervently, still fisting the end of his skirt downward.

“Benrey, I… I mean, I guess this isn’t so bad, but I can’t--”

“Please? Please, for best friend Benrey? You just, uh… you know, you look good. Real good. Good for me. We make a good team.” He paused, bending his finger just enough to raise the dress slightly. “Just wanna peek. See how, uh, pretty we got’cha.”

His eyes raised over his hand, up from Gordon’s waist. Their gazes met, and Gordon felt his stomach fill with fire when he noted the genuine smile on Benrey’s face. There was no hint of irony, or teasing, no anything. It was just an earnest smile, legitimately praising and proud of his work. 

Gordon swallowed. As if in a trance, he nodded and hiked the dress up so Benrey could get his eyeful. He watched, frozen, as Benrey leaned in, tilting his head to the side to get a better angle. A better view, Gordon presumed, since the dress was so full that he couldn’t gather all of it in his hands.

“Sweet. Thanks, friend.”

“Don’t mention it,” Gordon squeaked, and it was all he could get out before he felt it.

The wet. The warm.

The _tongue_.

At least he _assumed_ it was a tongue; it was hard to tell what exactly Benrey was doing with the dress obscuring his sight. It was just humid breaths that smelled faintly of fruity Sweet Voice, hums of appreciation, and a slick, hot sensation that lapped at the inside of his thighs. It coiled around his legs like a serpent, exploratory and curious, and occasionally snaked up to his hips and found its way crushed between fabric and skin. When it found its mark, saliva oozing through the fabric of his panties, Gordon barely bit back a moan from the heat and the pressure.

Benrey laughed. He could feel the vibrations.

There was nowhere to find purchase as he felt the pressure increase, every lick growing firmer against him. The heat was unbearable, every pant of Benrey beating against his skin, and with nothing else to grab onto, Gordon fell back flat against Benrey’s palm and grabbed at himself. A hand wrapped around his mouth, struggling to muffle the salacious noises spilling from his lips, and another tangled itself in his hair as he pulled and tugged.

His thighs quivered and he struggled to move them, to snap them closed, to kick or squirm. It was too much, too _fucking much_ , and he groaned into himself in frustration.

“Nuh-uh. Gotta, uh, sit tight,” Benrey admonished. It was while he was talking, while his tongue was otherwise occupied, that Gordon came to the realization that the only thing worse than feeling him drooling over his cock was the complete absence of him doing just that.

He whined into his fingers, yanked at his ponytail, arched his back until he was up on his shoulders and begged as loud as he could for Benrey to continue. With a hearty chuckle, Benrey obliged, and the ritual began again.

The coil in Gordon’s stomach was tightening, a spring ready to snap. The hand covering his mouth found itself crammed between his teeth as he bit down to suffocate the embarrassing sounds he was making. Somehow, they were even worse with his hand in the way, desperate and strangled cries that matched the pace of every lick, every flick of Benrey’s tongue, every exploratory poke that made its way under his panties.

Every pleased hum, every laugh that vibrated sheer from his groin up to his goddamn chest.

His hips tried to buck, but Benrey had him pinned. He settled for squirming as he felt himself growing nearer, hands tearing from his face and slamming into Benrey’s skin as he let out an unholy cry, embarrassing pleas for him to go faster, to go harder, to do _something_ before he lost his goddamn mind. Tears formed in the corner of his eyes from frustration, as he shrieked instructions at his handler like a demanding brat.

Benrey pulled away his hand and pushed his face closer. He forced the dress up further, pressed his tongue so firmly against Gordon that everything below the belt was crushed under the weight of wet and heat. He looked down the bridge of his nose at him, the corners of his mouth still visible in an obvious smile even if his tongue was not, and with a control of muscles that only he could manage, began to roll his tongue against him. It undulated, like ocean waves, slow and hard and absolutely perfect. Gordon, hips freed, rutted into the movement in response, chasing down his prize.

Faster, harder. God, he was so close. He could feel Benrey’s breath beating down on him, feel his gaze pinning him as surely as his hands had, could feel the heat building up hotter and hotter until it was unbearable. The end was so close, so infuriatingly close, and his legs ached as he forced himself harder against Benrey’s tongue.

Benrey laughed around his tongue. His hand trembled like an earthquake. His voice shot through Gordon like a bolt of lightning.

When Gordon came, it was explosive, like a firecracker went off in his head. It was all stars and bright white and dizziness as relief flooded him, his body mindlessly riding out every second until the sensation became painful. It was only then that he let himself collapse, reduced to jelly in Benrey’s grasp. 

Shaking, he pushed up his glasses and dug his palms into his eyes as he struggled to catch his breath. His heart thundered in his chest. Benrey’s tongue slithered back into his mouth.

“Yo, you good?”

Gordon raised a hand and looked up, Benrey smacking his lips as if trying to get a taste out of his mouth. While he felt as though he should have been offended, he didn’t have the energy to be angry. Hell, he didn’t even have the energy to respond, be it something as simple as a smile or a nod. Instead, he made a noise he hoped Benrey took as an affirmative and put his hand back over his eyes. He pressed until he could see starbursts.

Benrey kept talking. Something about how cute he looked, something about how this was more fun than he thought it’d be. Gordon couldn’t even be bothered to listen. He just lay there, content but exhausted, and let him ramble as he tried to piece himself together in the aftermath.

Once upon a time, Gordon lived an exceedingly normal life. He went on stupid coffee dates with girls with basic names, had missionary sex, and watched the most boring, vanilla porn known to man. He wasn’t entirely sure why the powers-that-be decided that he needed to take a sharp turn into being a living Bild Lilli doll for what was probably an extremely dangerous alien space god, but all things considered? 

It was a change he could get used to.


End file.
